Phan Fluff - Forbidden Love
by GeorgiaPhan
Summary: Dan (written in first person) lives in an alternate universe where homosexuality is treated with the death penalty (I know it can happen in this world, but I am using it in the UK for this story.) THIS IS NOT MEANT TO OFFEND ANYONE AT ALL! I AM NOT HOMOPHOBIC, THIS DOES NOT SHARE MY TRUE FEELINGS TOWARDS HOMOSEXUALITY!
1. Forbidden Love

I live on a relatively posh estate, in the house that was passed down to me by my grandfather. I was his favourite, he always used to spoil me. But I never realised why. Until he gave me his house, a few months back, after passing away suddenly. I discovered a stack of letters in his study, whilst moving in. They were all labelled "To Dan" and I did not halt to open them. Each and every one was detailed with his struggles with his wife, my grandma. He had written about how he never truly loved her, and how he married her to hide a secret. They all read the same, except the very end one. This was written sloppily, as if he was emotional and unstable when writing, there were a few smudges on the paper which I thought could be tear marks. 'I am sorry. I have hidden this for 70 years, and I feel as though telling you would break your heart. Not sure why. I am certain you are in the same position as me. I love you Dan. I love you so much. I need to tell you this. Make you feel safe in the world we live in today. I am gay. I understand if you now resent me, and I'm sorry for it. But I understand how you feel. Even if you do not know it yet, I know you are too. We share this in a world which treats us like vermin, like we are under them. Please burn these letters. And I pray to God you found them first. I am sorry, I have to go. Someone knows. I am sure of it. Someone has been watching me for the past few months. Someone will kill me. Trust no one, trust only yourself. Be safe my child.' The letter hit me deep, I was so unaware that my grandpa was gay. I had hidden the fact I was for 3 years, and could not imagine the pain and struggle of hiding it for 70. I read it over and over, and slowly it sunk in that my grandpa died because someone had found out his sexuality, and killed him. I felt faint, the odour of vomit hit my nostrils. I had thrown up without even realising. 'Trust no one, trust only yourself' rang through my ears, it waved in front of my eyes, imprinting itself on my brain, scorching itself into my memory. My grandpa was murdered, for something of which he had had no choice. No choice at all. And I am in danger of such too. I live in a world which thinks homosexuality is a sin, an abomination, thinking a homosexual person is the spawn of the devil, without the right of human life. And I am a rat in their sewers, a miscreant on their streets. I, Daniel James Howell, am gay. 


	2. A New Face

I was late for work. Again. I work at a café in the local street, next to the train station. Nothing special. It is a chain store, so there is no friendliness throughout. Just grumpy men and woman serving up sludgy coffee to business men. I threw on my apron and shoes, and tripped out of the door. "You ok there?" A voice called. I looked up, red in the face, embarrassed. The stranger was tall, lanky, and had raven hair flopped across his face. His eyes were a deep blue and his smile... well... he was grinning at me. "I'm fine. I'm fine." I cringed. "So I'm guessing you are now officially my next door neighbour?" I asked, noticing that he had boxes piled around his front garden. "Yep." He replied. Reaching his hand over the fence, he said politely "My name is Phil... and you are?" "Dan." I shook his hand, he had a firm grip, though seemed a little nervous. "Welcome to the neighbourhood." I grinned back, and made my way swiftly to the café. My boss was not happy. Well.. he is no longer my boss. He fired me within two minutes of me entering the building, and I was happy to throw my apron on the floor by his feet. When I returned, Phil was still outside his house. "You weren't gone long.." He started, then he saw my face. "Aah.. fired.. I guess..?" He asked awkwardly, and I did not need to reply. He struggled with one of his boxes, so I jumped over the fence to give him a hand. He was grateful, and showed me around. "You have a very big house, all by yourself." He commented, gesturing at my house, through the window. "Yes. I suppose I do." I said slowly, trying my hardest not to break down into tears. "It was my grandfathers." A silent tear rolled down my cheek, and I used the back of my hand to wipe it away. Phil apologised, awkward once more. "I should have thought... I should have thought before I said anything." He stood there, not knowing what to say. "No worries." I said, pretending to be as careless as possible. Not that it worked anyhow. I helped him unpack all his things, and I returned back to my house. I pondered over whether I seemed a little too eager, whether he noticed something was wrong. I brushed it off, thinking that I might just be edgy. For the rest of the day, I sorted through my grandfather's letters to me. By the end, I had sorted them all into two piles. It was easy really, as one pile contained masses, and the other had one. The one letter was the last letter, the letter with the most meaning, where it was all explained. I took the other pile outside, and set them alight one by one. This way I could fulfill my grandfather's dying wish, that no one else would find out other than me. After they were all reduced to ashes, I realised something. There was another person, more than one perhaps, that knew. The person who killed him. I ran back inside, picking up the box full of all his documents and photos, I headed to the lounge. I needed to find out who it was. Sorting through everything, I found that, other than my nan, who could be ruled out as she died before my grandfather did, there was one recurring figure. A man. With black hair, he was tall and lanky looking. And, in the colour photos, he had deep blue eyes. Just like Phil's. 


	3. Family

Not knowing what to do, and how to address this situation, I paced the lounge. For some obscure reason I did not want to believe it was anything to do with Phil, although we had only just met. I had a little flutter of feelings for my neighbour, but I was also completely aware I could not pursue these, if I valued my own life. And, also, if I asked him about these, and he admitted it was a family member, I would not be able to react, as if I did, he would most likely discover my secret. But then again, he may know who it was... but I couldn't exactly go out on a murder spree and bump of a man who had pretty much legally killed my grandfather. It makes me sick. Makes me sick to think that just because he was gay, he was allowed to be killed. Given a lower status, no right to live. All of a sudden I felt dizzy, and I managed to make my way to the kitchen next door to throw up in the sink. I threw up thrice over, overwhelmed with grief and worry. Unfortunately, Phil was also in his kitchen, and as they are both conservatory-like buildings, he saw me. The next thing I knew was he was ringing my door bell, worriedly asking if I was ok. This was the last thing I needed, but I felt I had to let him in. He rushed towards me, and assisted me back through to the lounge, though I insisted I was perfectly capable. He sat me down, gave me a glass of water, and walked off to get a tissue. He was gone for over five minutes, so I went to investigate. Oh Shit. He was stood over the photographs, and had the last, unburned letter in his hand. I walked, as quickly as I could, over to him and pushed him sideways. "Don't look at that," I said gruffly, as I harshly gathered them up in a rough pile and threw them into the nearby shoebox. Then I looked at his face. He was crying, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. His eyes seemed full with a private pain. He was shaking, his hands not able to wipe his tears away. And he was looking out into space. Though I felt bad to feel so, I felt hugely relieved that he did not seem to wanrt to kill me at this precise moment. Instead, he gathered me up in a warm embrace. I stood there, a little awkward, as i was not sure how to react. Obviously, I wanted to discover why he was crying, though I felt a little intrusive; obviously I wanted to discover why he had hugged me, though I wanted him to calm down first. Once he let go, I walked back into the lounge, and of course he followed. He sat on the edge of the sofa, facing me, and began to talk fast, as if he would not ever get another chance to utter these words. "I grew up in Surrey, which had, and still has, extremely cruel views towards homosexuals. Each individual town has to watch their own punishments, or executions. At the age of 8, I had already been forced to watch seven hangings, three beheadings, nine whippings, and once a lesbian had been raped, by the mayor's son, as her punishment. She killed herself the very next day, her partner was one of the beheaded victims. My family is, and was, one of the highest ranking families throughout, which meant they were pure of blood" He spat the word 'pure' "and my father often organised these executions. So, of course, I grew up in a household where not only was homosexuality not allowed to be spoken about unless it was to do with the next execution or just 'dobbing' some one in, but also my father had made it clear that if any of us where, like my 'flea ridden uncle' was, he would not have any contact ever again. At least he did not say he would kill us with his bare hands, like my grandfather did to my great great aunt." Phil stopped to take a breath. "So where do you come in?" I asked innocently, though I guessed he meant that he was gay, but if my guess was wrong, I would be in grave danger. "I'm gay." He said quickly, as if wanting to push it out of his system. He reached into the shoebox for one of the photos. "And that there, is my father." 


	4. Anger

I pushed him away, overwhelmed with unreasonable anger, grief and hatred. I turned away, so I could not see my grandfather's murderer in his face, and looked out of the window. There were two blackbirds on the grass, pecking into the soil in rhythm with one another. This harmony was interrupted by a pigeon, speckled purple and blue. It squawked at them, causing the two to fly away together, so it could have all the garden to itself. I was empathetic, for some obscure reason I felt attached to those two little blackbirds, who were both a sleek black, compared to the female brown colour. This meant they were both male. They were both threatened by the bigger, 'more important' bird. Like us. We were threatened by the 'normal' people. The 'pure' people. I turned back, wrapping Phil up in my arms, whispering "I am sorry. You...you just look so much like him." "I know." He whispered back. "I hate it. He sticks to me. I just want to rid of him, the memories, my past, but I can't. I am him. He is me." "No. No! You... you're not him." "You don't know me, I'm sorry, you don't know me at all." "I have time. You have time. Introduce me." I made him grin a little, and he went to the lounge and sat on my sofa. "Make yourself at home!" I joked, but he did not react. "I can't tell you anything else, I can't bring myself to say anything else. I don't want you to share my memories, my pain, I want you to know me. The real me." He smiled softly at me, I returned this smile, and he continued "I have waited for someone to treat me as their equal, treat me like a real human. To get to know me as a person, not an object. Not a lowlife. I want them to know me. Just me. Forget everything they have ever been told, their opinions, their laws. Just... me." "I know. I know." We sat in silence, he made no effort to speak, and neither did I. The clock ticked in the background, it must have ticked hundreds of times. Trying to break this void, I turned on the television, the remote was by my hand and I could think of nothing else. The first channel was a documentary labelled "Homosexuality through the ages". It contained images and words I do not want to repeat. The second was "Homo on the run". It was a spin off game show, which also contained horrific images. Flicking through the channels, they were all filled with gruesome programs. The last was a news report, I left it on as was just showing a clip of the waves at Devon. Then the voice-over rolled in. "This is where James Lester and his wife Celia love to enjoy their summer breaks. Free from the responsibilities and drama of his challenging job, as Head Protector of Surrey, he can claim back his lost time to be with his loved ones. Unfortunately, due to a trail of unfortunate events, his son Philip, was not able to join in on their holiday this year. Mr Lester refuses to give any more information.." "Turn it off. TURN IT OFF." Phil screamed, though we were both frozen. Eventually the report ended, leaving us silent whilst the adverts played. "I.. I'm so so sorry." I whispered, looking at the pain in his deep blue eyes and the anger controlling his body. He was shaking, so much so I could imagine heat radiating from him. Like a dragon. But a very cute dragon, at that. He still did not move. I brought my hand to his cheek, which was cold, whilst his forehead was raging. "Phil?" I asked "Phil, are you ok?" No reply. Standing up, I gently lowered him across the sofa, pushing his feet up onto the seat I had been sitting in. He blinked, his eyes began to stream with tears, and he bundled himself into a small ball; his legs to his chest, knees to his chin, and his hands gripping his calfs. "I.. I'm sorry." My voice was weak, I did not know what else to do. What else could I do? 


	5. Father And Son

"You shouldn't apologise." He sniffed, finally shaking himself free of the position he had been in for

over half an hour. "It should be you who loses it, you have just seen the guy that most likely killed

your grandfather. And his son is sitting right here. Any normal person woul..."

"But we're not normal, are we?" I interrupted, sliding his feet onto the floor so I could sit.

"Fair point." He mused. "Have you ever wondered whether in fact we are the normal people? And

they are the abnormal? They are stuck in their own world of complete ignorance and arrogance,

whereas we are free... in the metaphorical sense."

"Ignorance is bliss." I said calmly.

"Bliss?! Bliss?! Are you kidding? Bliss is killing people just because they are homophobic?!"

"It was a quote! Calm!" I placed my hand on his arm,

He froze, his eyes filled with fear.

I quickly let go. "Phil? ... Phil?"

He shook his head, like clearing a memory. "Nothing. It was nothing."

"No. Tell me." It came out with more demand than I meant it to, he gulped and began to talk.

"My dad..." He cleared his throat. "My father used to tell me I was never good enough, I would

never become who he wanted me to become. I had to be the best, not simply better. I had to be the

best. I had to be a winner. Not just win once or twice. He pushed me at everything. He pushed me

with school and homework, he used to make me guess what the homework would be, or the next

topic would be so I could do the homework early and hand it in minutes after it was even set -

because I had done it the night before. He used to ring the teachers for a list of the subjects that I

would tudy over a year and force me to learn every single one over two weeks. Stupid pop quizzes

and ridiculous tests. To an outsider he would just seem as an over eager and over proud father. But

to me, he was a monster. Not only would he preach to me that homosexuality was wrong every

minute possible, he would preach to me the importance of their extermination. He made me learn

facts and figures of the first execution leading right to the most present. I can real of names and

numbers of people killed in the month of August in 1986 or the number of whippings that took

place on the 23rd of March 2000." He took a deep breath, as if to give him a breath of confidence.

"And then if I was not good enough, which was pretty much all the time, he would punish me. He, as

a renowned executioner and the fact he carried out punishments for homosexuals, would punish

me beyond the realms of what you would believe. He would lock me in the basement surrounded

by pictures of the dead, decapitated and all, which supposedly would teach me that I must be

superior to such vermin. Or he would test the whips or the knives on me, the least painful would be

a good belt around the head. I would go into school with bruises and welts, I would have to do gym

in just my shorts which revealed the cuts and lashes, but no one would say a word. Not one single

word, not to save my skin. They were clouded by the fact my father cleaned up the streets and

brought peace to the city; not even my closest friends even mentioned my wounds."

He began to shake, but I could not move, I was frozen in shock and in a state of disbelief.

"The news reported said his job was challenging." He spat. "I often used to wonder whether he had

any remorse over any atrocity he had committed, but I realise that if he can do all of that to his own

son, he would not hesitate to kill a stranger. I would have thought he would erase me from his

memory, force everyone to forget I even existed. Or maybe, someday, he will manipulate this to

show that he is dedicated and that nothing can stop him."

"What did he do when you came out?"

"He had this routine of coming into my room at any time in the morning, when I was asleep, usually

ranging from 1 to 4, and would shout at me "ARE YOU GAY?" to wake me up. He didn't do this

because he thought I was, it was merely a method of 'character building' or whatever else he liked

to call it. One morning I had finally got fed up, I seem to recall it was the morning after we had had a

row over me being friends with a homosexual and not handed him over to be killed; I mean, come

on, who did he think I was? He was too blind to even see he wasn't just a friend, he was my

boyfriend. The first guy I could trust. The first guy I ever loved. Anyway, he had said in the row that

he would kill this guy, or better still make me kill him, he called it a way of initiation. So,

overwhelmed with emotion, I screamed "YES" in his face. His eyes filled with something terrible,

something way beyond normal hatred or disgust. His face was full of malevolence, his body rigid.

The next thing I knew he had thrown me down the stars and was kicking me as I lay on the floor.

Then, giving me less than 5 minutes to pack, he threw me out. I managed to pack my credit cards

and papers, and began a new life. Though nothing can be completely started over, especially with

this last name."

"Do you think he killed my grandfather publicly?" I asked after a silence grew and grew until I could bear it no longer.

"Most likely. But if not, he would have suffered a greater deal more."


	6. Stay With Me

"What is that supposed to mean?" I was sharp, it was unintentional.

"You know what it means. I don't want to have to explain this, I don't want to think about this anymore. I am forced to relive this in my dreams, please don't

make me relive it now." He sighed, leaning back on the sofa. His black hair had fallen into his eyes and he made no effort to move it.

So I did.

He flinched at first, though calmed as I slowly ran my fingers through his messy hair, like a parent would to a child.

He sighed, hopefully out of relief or pleasure than boredom, and settled down onto the sofa cushions.

"Is this ok?" He said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence I had created.

"Is what ok?"

"This. Me being here. I pretty much intruded. I am in your house on your sofa moaning about my father who killed your grandfather. It's not exactly

commonplace is it?"

I laughed a little. "Is this really what you are concerned about? I would have thought you would be scared that someone would look through the window and

see to men..." I gasp theatrically "sitting within a close proximity of each other. Not to mention, one of them is touching the other. How unspeakable."

He giggled, though quickly recovered and maintained his worried look. "What if someone does see?"

"Prosecute them for trespassing." I shrugged. "Besides, we could probably pass as brothers."

"That's a point." He looked relieved.

We sat in another silence for a while, he was staring at me with a quizzical look upon his face.

"What is it?"

"What was it like for you to come out?"

"To my family?" He nodded. "I haven't. Well... my grandfather guessed. But I haven't told my family. Haven't seen them in years. I have tried to set up my own

life, away from them." I shrugged, he looked as though he were about to ask about my family, so I shrugged again.

He continued to look at me.

"What?!" His intent stares were a little off putting.

"What would you do to my father if you met him."

"You can't ask me that. You can't. I have no answer. I would not be able to control myself, I would most likely end up doing something stupid and getting hung

for it. I would lose all discipline and probably kick the bastard to death. I don't know. I just... please don't. I don't want to meet him." I paused, slowing my

breath which had sped like an engine. "It might not have even been him. I don't know. We don't know. No one knows for certain."

"Are you going to find out who it was?"

He seemed hell bent on making me angry. "I want to, yes. But then what would I do? What would I be able to do? I can't do anything. Possibly, if he was killed

for a different reason, I would go out and find the fucking murderer, but I can't. I have no rights. No chance of survival."

"You're just going to sit here then?"

"What else should I do? Do you not get it? I don't know. I don't know! I don't know!" I was screaming.

He leaned over and pressed his lips onto mine, his were cold, mine raging.

"Stay with me?" He whispered, as we lay together on the sofa.

"I can't move. I guess you're stuck with me." I grinned and he flicked me on the cheek.

"I didn't mean that."

"What did you mean then?" I acted confused, he rolled his eyes and sighed.

"I meant stay with me. Stay with me through this. Stay with me through the judgmental people and the stupid laws, the fake friends and the accusations. Stay

with me through pathetic family and horrid nightmares, stay with me through the hiding and the crying and the lying. Just stay with me."

I interlocked my fingers with his and answered "I promise."

He smiled, as if it were the first true smile he had ever had.


	7. Two Fathers

I was gazing at the pictures in the shoe box.

I left Phil on the sofa because he said he was tired; I would much rather have him sleep on my sofa than go home and leave me alone - I guess

that would be how he would feel if it were me in that position too.

The pictures of my grandfather were strange, I began to see them in a new, different light.

In every photo he was stood with his shoulders slumped, his head bowed a little, his eyes hiding something; it was as if even from the age of

10 he was keeping the one secret that made him who he was.

Well, I couldn't blame him.

I heard the sofa creak as Phil stirred, his breath loud and just completely adorable.

I guess Granddad would have liked him. He always wanted me to be happy, it was all he ever said when I was little. "Go out and play Daniel!"

and "Go and have fun!" and "Go on! Go and be a kid! Youth doesn't last for ever, my boy!". He would be happy for me. Happy for my happiness.

"I miss you." I whispered, looking out of the wide window, as tears spilled from my eyes.

Staring at the tree which he liked to rest under, I wiped them away with the back of my hand and sniffed.

And that was when someone knocked on the door.

"Hello?" I answered cautiously, opening it a fraction to see the outside world.

"Greetings." The deep voice sounded. "Is Mr Howell available?"

His hair was dark, his eyes a familiar and piercing blue.

He looked just like Phil. Almost identical.

My heart sank yet filled with an uncontrollable fire, my eyes burned yet brimmed with an ocean of tears that threatened to overflow. I could not

stop my hands curling into fists, my arms leave my side and.. and...

punch him. In the face.

He swore as he clicked his jaw back into alignment. "You fucking faggot." He screeched, kicking the door open, causing me to fall onto the floor

and hit my head.

Darkness.

When I opened my eyes, all I could see was a fuzzy and blurry haze. Disorientated, I fumbled around to find something to lean on, and

reassure myself of my surroundings.

My hands felt a chair leg, and I pulled myself up onto it.

"Hey, you." Phil whispered, I jumped.

"I almost shat myself." I swore "thanks for that."

"I'd rather have told you than you just sit on me. You'd probably punch me, as you did to... him."

"Yeah. Him. Why is he here exactly?"

"To end what he started. Or at least that is what he said before they threw us both in here." He answered my confused glance "there were two

men."

"You're not serious?" My breath caught, my lungs felt utterly empty of air.

"I don't know whether he meant what we both think he meant. But I wouldn't hold your breath on the chances of us both getting out of here

alive." He spoke with gritted teeth, as if he were also struggling to breathe. "You too, huh?" He whispered when he caught me looking at his

chest rising and falling painfully.

"I thought you said that he would leave you alone? That he exiled you in the hope that noone would ever know that you are ..."

"I don't know! Ok? I don't know! For all I know he could be here to end what he started with your family! If he had been by your father for so

long, and killed him, he might have known about you!"

I stopped, terrified. What if he was here to kill me? What if he was here to kill me because he knew about me? What if he would kill us both?

"I don't want to die." I breathed, my lip trembling.

"Sssh." He wrapped his arms around me, sheltering my body from the fears which surrounded us both.

"Hang on." I sniffed. "He asked me whether Mr Howell was available. Surely, if he killed Granddad, he would know that he was... well

unavailable, due to that fact?"

"He most likely said that to get your attention, to manipulate you, to hurt you. He does that, he's like that. What can I say, I just hope I don't

have that gene. It is bad enough seeing the man, who is not only the man who punished you for loving another, but also the one who tried to

kill me, in the mirror. And that man is my godforsaken father."

"You used to call me Dad, Philip. What happened to those days, eh?"

"I grew up." He spat, sullen.

"I think it's time you grow back down to where you belong." He smirked "Oh, Mr Howell... Dan I assume.. I have a meeting in which I wish to

include your presence."

I nodded, my heart in turmoil - I was in complete fear of this man, this devil, this.. criminal, yet I felt strong enough and felt I had the courage to

drive a stake through his heart and gift him with a bullet to the head.

"Come along then, vermin." His sadistic grin remained planted on his pale face as he dragged me by the collar into the living room. "You must

know this man, I assume?" He gestured to my father, who was standing with a sense of pride and gravity.

"Daniel James Howell. I just wish this would have stayed as a faze. "Your grandfather kept telling me it wasn't, I was adamant that you would

grow out of those emotions. I guess I was wrong. I will never be able to tell Daddy that I apologize." He drew his index finger across the

bottom of his eyelid, indicating shedding an imaginary tear "Oh what a shame I stabbed him before I could."

He smiled at me with perverse pleasure. "Now. What shall I do to you?"


End file.
